


where my feet touch my shadow

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, if you squint you might see the fineprint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micha sighs over the line and Philipp can almost see him rub at his jaw in self-deprecation. </p>
<p>"I was 26 and wearing the band everyone expected you to have. I needed you." It is softer than a blow to the chest but there was four years in between to cushion the words. Micha still gives an echo of a laugh, strangled on the way up his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where my feet touch my shadow

**Author's Note:**

> title from Bastille's The Driver. recommend you listen to it because it's A+

Numbers are important to them, beyond their given names, numbers are what they live by.

113 minutes in Rio, twenty-three minutes into extra time, Andre's number nine flashes down the left side to kick the ball to Mario who bumps it down from his chest to his foot and kicks it true. Twenty-five minutes on the pitch and their number 19 makes history. After the group crowds him into a hug, Philipp holds them both back for a moment.

"We won't lose. You've done it. Now we have to keep going to the end." Seven minutes more of defending against Argentina. Seven more minutes on exhausted legs running with adrenaline and the want left over from 2006 and 2010. Philipp doesn't remember much in those harrowing minutes between them and gold. The whistle blows after Messi's last chance. Bastian ambles over and Thomas is there shouting in his ear with exuberance. 

They clap for Argentina, knowing what it feels like to be so close. It was a game well-met. 120 odd minutes that don't feel real. He lets Basti lead the line to the top for more reasons than his injuries and Angela Merkel waiting. Climbing the stairs after Oliver, Philipp is the last one to reach the stage. The medal hangs around his neck. There is a procession of 14 pounds changing hands until it is within his reach. 

It is his last World Cup and it happens to be his greatest achievement. He lifts the trophy with steady hands. His arms feel heavy with triumph.

July 13th ends with twenty-three champions. 

Monday morning comes and Philipp doesn't feel like the dream has ended, but the trophy next to his breakfast is proof of the fact. He has a quiet word with Jogi in the silence of their idyllic camp. 

"You can keep playing." Jogi lets go of him with a clap to his shoulder. The morning light slants through and paints age across the manager's face. It had been his decision, his advocacy that led them both here. Philipp as a retiring captain of Germany, shaking hands over breakfast after the best outcome they could've hoped for. 

"I know, but I have done my part. My plans end here." Here is at thirty years old, three cups behind him. He thinks of the golden generation, of Micha and Torsten, of Arne and Timo and Christian, of Poldi and Per and Basti. He thinks of Basti as captain and knows the time has come to pass the captaincy on. 

Micha never got that chance after all.

*

Four months later, he is sitting in his kitchen watching his son eat breakfast. There is no longing in his chest to be back in the hectic schedule of international games between club games, but there is a niggling feeling of missing new memories with the team. Claudia kisses his cheek and scoops up Julian to get warmer clothes. 

"How does it feel? Strange right?" Micha wouldn't be his first choice to call, but he thought it out more than once and came to the fifth choice on the third ring. 

"You would know." There is wryness in his voice, because he would always be following Micha's steps in some way. He takes a breath, careful and measured. 

"I never apologized. It can't be in the past if I don't admit my wrong." Micha stays silent. After coming back, he watched the coverage. He read his words and couldn't stop thinking back on the last time they faced Argentina in 2010. The DFB had always appreciated his succinctness, but Philipp was young and bound to make mistakes.

Superstitions were never a part of his thinking, but morale was. Micha had left after his interview and they lost to Spain. Thomas had been lost to them after the quarter final and that meant neither number 13 was with them in time for the game.

"It wasn't your fight. There's nothing wrong with ambition. I was more angry at Loew. It was stupid to leave right at the end. I saw Miro get his 100th cap and Arne score and Thomas--it wasn't easy to watch the kid who made it look simple wear my number and the name of a legend on his back. I knew I wasn't in the right frame of mind when he got the yellow and I--I was petty. I left because I thought I wasn't needed." Micha sighs over the line and Philipp can almost see him rub at his jaw in self-deprecation. 

"I was 26 and wearing the band everyone expected you to have. I needed you." It is softer than a blow to the chest but there was four years in between to cushion the words. Micha still gives an echo of a laugh, strangled on the way up his throat.

"It didn't seem like it at the time besides I'm frankly terrible with advice giving." Philipp laughs. 

"Yes, I remember, like with Bastian." There is a pause, because they were both captains who held the secrets of their teammates close to the chest. 2014 had seen another change to the decade long relationship. Philipp hoped captaincy would help Bastian to have that trust, to not be afraid.

"Like with Basti." He agrees. Philipp remembers the harsh words after Micha's agent accused the national side of a gay infiltration and the slump of Bastian's shoulders, the wary look of Lukas. It was Arne in the end, who settled them. He remembers 2007, taking a stand and giving an interview to a gay magazine. 

It had helped give him perspective at Bayern too with others approaching him in confidence. It was such a little thing, to give a listening ear. It was an injustice of their world, of the careers they already gave so much to. 

"Philipp, I have to go but don't worry about that. It's buried." Micha doesn't say goodbye, but Philipp feels lighter.

*

He retires for good in 2018. He is 34 and Micha is in the stands for his testimonial game reminiscent of Oliver Kahn's. It is not often that a favored son of Munich retires at the same club he started in. Basti opts out of playing to not aggravate a minor injury but gives Lukas an express order to not pass the opportunity to give the younger national side some hell. They have both retired internationally and the world cup looms like an open sore. 

Sami is captain of the national team and the national side in the game. They've drawn their teams and he thinks the most unusual moment is watching Wellenreuther talk to Manuel on the sidelines. Marco gets lucky in the first half with a cross from Andre, but Mario counters with a curling ball to the back of the younger Schalker's net. 

It is tied until the 88th minute when Lukas slots in a goal from Arjen's back heel pass. They sing in triumph and Bastian runs down to tease Lukas about wearing another Bayern shirt. Mario and Marco snark about the goals, promising a better amount in the next showdown between them. Andre and Toni have a conversation with a smiling David.

"113 caps for the national team and 789 for Bayern. What's next for you, Philipp?" Per asks.

"A vacation and maybe a cooking course."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly just trying to process the NT's history. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one still crying about Michael Ballack and 2010. 
> 
> I'll see what I feel about this when I get some sleep.


End file.
